


At least then, I'm with him.

by notebooksandlaptops



Series: Tumblr Prompts [2]
Category: The Witcher (TV), Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types, Wiedźmin | The Witcher Series - Andrzej Sapkowski
Genre: F/M, Grief/Mourning, Heavy Angst, Human Jaskier | Dandelion, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Mortality, Multi, Not A Happy Ending, Not Happy, Originally Posted on Tumblr, Polyamory, Tumblr Prompt, You've been warned, but not a lot of comfort really, mortal jaskier, no beta we die like renfri, this one is intense guys
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-04
Updated: 2020-04-04
Packaged: 2021-02-28 20:27:09
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,247
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23483086
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/notebooksandlaptops/pseuds/notebooksandlaptops
Summary: Geralt felt a bitter chuckle spring to his lips, “I would rather be dead. At least then, I’m with him.”-///-Or, Jaskier dies. Geralt mourns. Yennefer made a promise she might not be able to keep.
Relationships: Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Jaskier | Dandelion, Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Jaskier | Dandelion/Yennefer z Vengerbergu | Yennefer of Vengerberg, Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Yennefer z Vengerbergu | Yennefer of Vengerberg, Jaskier | Dandelion/Yennefer z Vengerbergu | Yennefer of Vengerberg
Series: Tumblr Prompts [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1689241
Comments: 22
Kudos: 186





	At least then, I'm with him.

**Author's Note:**

> This is very angsty. Geralt is mourning. Jaskier does not magically come back to life. Please look after yourself while reading.

There’s a hollowness here in the bed they lay, carved with a blade forged of _used-to-be_ and _once-was._

There is no incessant laughter.

There is no soft singing.

There are no lude innuendos tossed to lovers rolling their eyes.

There are no annoying questions.

There is no rambling nothingness pouring from plump lips in comforting tones.

There is only the hollowness.

_He was always human. He was always going to die. You knew this – this behaviour here? This is foolish._

And yet, Geralt reflects, as he holds Yennefer close and tries not to think of the missing piece of their jagged, broken puzzle he never truly understood what that meant. Even when Jaskier started to get grey in his hair, even when Jaskier stopped joining them on contracts ( _adventures_ he could almost here Jaskier correcting in his head), even when he settled down to sing songs to children and walk the coastline, happy with the few days a week he saw his lovers, _even then_ Geralt didn’t understand what it was that Jaskier was always going to die.

He moves to stroke Yennefer’s hair, but her inhale of breath tells him it’s not welcome, so he stops. He knows why without having to ask her. Jaskier was braiding Yennefer’s hair up until the day he died.

They’re _broken._ They’re broken and yet the long stretch of extended life they both must live stretches out before them like a quiet highway road – no end in sight. Their future looks boring. Predictable. Straight and narrow and _quiet._ Far, far too quiet.

He does not know if he can make it.

He does not know if _they_ will make it.

He’s barely spoken to Yennefer since they lost Jaskier. Not really. They sit and hold one another at night and feel Jaskier’s absence clinging to the sheets and then in the morning they part ways and pretend that it's all normal. That it's all fine.

They were a trio for so long that it is hard to imagine being a duo.

Once, a long time ago, before Jaskier was beginning to slow with aches and pains in his bones, he’d spoken softly about how he worried he was just an interlude in their long love story – he would fade and they would continue on. But maybe he wasn’t. Maybe he was the one playing the tune. Maybe without him they’d fall to pieces and Geralt’s heart would bear the cracking weight of losing them both in one fell swoop.

It has been a long time since he found himself believing he was better off not caring, better off alone. But here he is.

“He’d hate it,” her words, soft and unexpected, pull Geralt from his thoughts. He blinks, glances down into Yennefer’s violet eyes that are watching him carefully, almost guarded in a way they hadn’t been for half a century, “he’d hate to hear you thinking like that.”

Geralt wondered if he’d spoken out loud but—no. No, he hadn’t. She was just _cheating._ He growled, pushing her off him and standing, “get out of my fucking head, Yennefer.” he stalked from the bed, with no real direction in sight. His blades, perhaps? They were already sharp, but his hands seemed unable to do anything soft anymore. His softness had died by the coast, was buried in a grave he’d dug himself with body aching from more than just the exertion of shovelling dirt that would cover his lover for the rest of time.

He could hear her moving behind him, hear her shifting to sit upwards in the bed.

“You’re thinking loudly, and not talking to me. I have no idea if you’re fine, or if you’re grieving normally, or if you’re about to grab one of those blades and slice it through your own throat.”

Geralt growled low, sharping his blade in the dim corner of the room they’d rented in this inn, “If I am not talking to you, perhaps it is because I do not want to.”

“You’re becoming like you were,” she insisted, “and he would have been heartbroken by it.”

“Don’t fucking _tell me_ what he would have been heartbroken by,” Geralt spit. He wasn’t doing this. He wasn’t going to listen to her berate him with Jaskier’s memory.

She was silent for a long moment. So was he. He counted their heartbeats. He counted their breaths. He sharped his sword to the rhythm of it and wondered if he’d ever be able to think of a song again without wanting to tear the earth to shreds.

“He was _mine_ too. My songbird, my lark,” She sounded indignant. He supposed that was fair. “and I made him promises before he left. I made him promises that I wouldn’t let you do this.”

It didn’t surprise Geralt, even if it pissed him off. Jaskier and Yennefer making promises about him? Jaskier thinking he’d need looking after? Jaskier thinking he could control the swell of Geralt’s grief in any conceivable way? “I guess,” Geralt spoke softly, still not looking at her, “that we all made him promises we can’t keep.”

He could feel her stare, even without looking, “and what did you promise him?”

Geralt’s jaw clenched. He hadn’t spoken this much since he’d put Jaskier’s body in the ground. “I promised him I’d keep him safe.”

There was quiet between them, though the quiet was deafening. Geralt wondered what she would have to say to that. He wondered if she blamed him. She’d be right to do so.

“Geralt,” she murmured finally, “you did keep him safe. Nobody can be protected from age. He was human.”

And that was the thing, wasn’t it? They had loved Jaskier in part for his humanity, but Geralt _hadn’t known what that meant._

“If you carry on like this, Geralt,” Yennefer continued, “you might as well have buried yourself with him.”

Geralt felt a bitter chuckle spring to his lips, “I would rather be dead. At least then, I’m with him.”

And what could she say to that, hm? He wouldn’t, of course. He was a Witcher, and he had a duty. They had Cirilla to think of too, she’d already lost one parent. But he ached. He ached for their completeness. He ached for Jaskier. He even ached for Yennefer because even though she was _there,_ right there, close enough to touch, she wasn’t. She was just as locked away from Geralt as Jaskier was. Because Jaskier had gone and now nothing made sense and Geralt couldn’t—he couldn’t—

He didn’t realise she had moved until she was there. He didn’t realise he was no longer sharping his sword until she took them from his hands.

He did not realise he was crying until she wiped the tears from his eyes.

He looked up into violet eyes, “he’s gone.”

She nodded, “yes.”

He reached out then, grabbed her waist. He couldn’t say the words, but he knew they were there. Maybe this would break him and Yennefer apart, but— _stay._ He wanted her to stay. Stay for now. Stay even if he was becoming a shadow of what he had been. Stay even if Jaskier would hate what he was becoming. Because he couldn’t lose them both.

She pulled him forward, until his head was pressed between the curve of her breasts.

And he wept, for all the good it would do, and for all that it couldn’t.

Jaskier was gone.

Everything was hollow.

Geralt was hollow.

**Author's Note:**

> I now take tumblr prompts for cute lil ficlets like this! If you're interested [@Jaskier-wearing-dresses](https://jaskier-wearing-dresses.tumblr.com/) just drop one in my inbox :) (or just come say hi in general, always happy to make new witcher friends) :) 
> 
> This was for an angst prompt list so sorry its so angsty (way more than the last one) :(


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